by Josie Litton
He felt good, damn good. Better, indeed, than he could ever remember feeling. What was it Dragon had said—a meek little woman to bear him sons and rub his feet? Wolf laughed. Better a temptress to alternately infuriate and dazzle him. A woman of strength and will to match his own, a true partner in his life as well as his bed.
The cool air, heavy with sea mist, caressed his bare chest. He brushed droplets away idly, chasing thoughts like stags over the hills. What else was it Dragon had said? That he would have to give Cymbra his trust before he could expect her loyalty? That sounded like an alliance between jarls, not a marriage, or at least not how he had always thought of marriage.
Mayhap he needed to think again.
Mayhap he needed to thank the Norns for gifting him with a woman of pride and courage, a fitting mate for a true Viking.
Mayhap he needed to go back inside, shuck his trousers, and make love to his temptress until she cried his name and clung to him in victorious surrender.
He was pushing the door open, already bending his head to enter, when he heard hoofbeats like muted thunder shattering the morning stillness. He turned and saw the rider racing up the hill toward the berm.
His hand fell away, his back straightened. He clenched his fists slowly, grasping air, feeling steel. Bare-chested, mantled in the aura of his rank, he paused just long enough to shut the door gently on his sleeping wife before he walked toward the gates and whatever summoned him from beyond them.
Chapter THIRTEEN
SHELTERED BENEATH THE OVERHANG OF THE weaving shed, Cymbra pulled an edge of her cloak up over her head and watched the water drip from the thatched eaves of the great hall. It was raining. Again. She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, drawing on the memory of sun. It seemed to have done nothing but rain ever since Wolf's departure a week ago. People were becoming concerned. If it didn't stop soon, the crops would be at risk.
She saw old Ulfrich slogging his way toward the hall and waved. Running out between the drops, she joined him. He smiled in welcome, pleased to see her.
“How is your chest?” Cymbra asked as they made for the hall together.
“Much better, thank you. That infusion of yours truly is a wonder.”
She nodded, pleased yet still uneasy about him. But then she seemed uneasy about almost everything these days, dogged by worry over her brother, dread of what was to come, and a strange feeling of vulnerability she could neither understand nor deny. “You really shouldn't be out in this. Dampness isn't good for you.”
He smiled again, patiently and didn't reply. He didn't need to. She knew he had been in the fields and the woods beyond, reciting the prayers, making the sacrifices, doing what he could.
Brother Joseph had been doing the same but in the relative comfort of the small building Wolf had allowed him to make into a chapel. Two men, two faiths, working for a common end. She had to believe they would succeed.
The monk was already in the hall, seated by the fire. He jumped up when he saw them and quickly offered a stool to Ulfrich. Helping the older man off with his sodden cloak, he said, “Here, put this blanket around yourself. I've warmed it.”
Ulfrich nodded gratefully and did as he was bid.
Steam and the scent of wet wool rose from Cymbra's cloak. She discarded it and kindly refused the blanket Brother Joseph offered her. “I was only out for a few minutes. You look as though you could use it yourself.”
Belatedly, she noticed that he, too, was soaked through. His smile was a little abashed as he said, “I went out to the fields.” At her surprised look, he added, “I am truly grateful to Lord Wolf for permission to have a chapel, but all of God's creation is his sanctuary. It seems fitting to walk among it.”
Ulfrich inclined his head at this wisdom. He accepted a mug Brita offered to him and nodded at the Irish girl gratefully. She offered mugs to Cymbra and Brother Joseph as well, then hesitated before shyly taking the seat Cymbra offered.
“Brita has learned to make the infusion you are using,” Cymbra told Ulfrich. She smiled at the girl. “She learns very quickly.”
The Irish lass blushed at this praise and Cymbra smiled again. But her smile faltered at the prickling sensation that stirred deep within her. For just an instant she was engulfed by the memory of Brita's pain and despair, then it melted away into relief and a feeling of safety. It was gone faster than a star streaking across a midnight sky but it served only to increase Cymbra's sense of unease. In the past, she would have been able to shield herself from such sensation. Now it came without warning, not even giving her time to try to distance herself.
Despite this, it pleased her greatly to see how much Brita had changed in so short a time. Garbed now in clothing Cymbra had given her, already showing the effects of better food and rest, she looked almost like a different person.
All the servants—and the slaves, for Cymbra refused to make any distinction—were newly garbed and were well pleased by it. They also seemed less aware or at least less concerned with who was slave and who was free.
As she glanced around the great hall, she saw others who had come in out of the rain, finding a corner, a bench, some convenient place to work and chat. There was an air of busy purpose and contentment. She was glad of it but not misled, knowing herself to be only one among many counting the days until the return of the jarl of Sciringesheal.
A shiver passed along her spine and she leaned closer to the fire, staring into the darting flames. Too well she remembered being awakened from the deep sleep of sensual exhaustion to see a huge, dark figure of menace, armored and helmeted, standing beside the bed.
Barely had she time to gasp than her husband lifted her to him. For just a moment she felt crushed by leather, steel, and the unyielding power of the warrior himself. Yet his kiss when it came was achingly gentle.
Against her mouth, he murmured, “I'll be back soon.
Take care of things here.” Dropping her lightly back onto the pillows, he pulled the covers up and lingered just a moment longer to look at her.
Then he was gone, striding out into the too-bright light of what turned out to be the last fair day they were to have between then and now.
It was only later, after she had rushed to dress and hurried after him to find he was already gone, taking Dragon and two dozen men with him, that she learned what had happened. Ulfrich told her, as gently and kindly as he could: a settlement near the coast raided. The Danes suspected. The attackers to be hunted down, the deaths avenged. All in a day's work for the Norse Wolf.
Except a day had passed and another and another until now a full week had passed. Cymbra had begun to look toward the gates every few minutes, hoping against hope that she would see her husband and the others riding through them. At night she lay awake, tormented by memory and desire, aching for him. And fearing.
She told herself not to be absurd. He was a mighty warrior, proven in battle time and time again. He was to be feared, not feared for. Yet any man could make a mistake, a small misjudgment. Any man could die.
“My lady … ?”
Startled, Cymbra lifted her gaze from the fire to find Brita looking at her with concern. She realized the young woman must have spoken and she had not heard her.
“Is something wrong, my lady?”
“No,” Cymbra said hastily. She managed a weak smile. “I'm fine, just distracted. Pray excuse me.”
“You should rest more.” Brita glanced over at Ulfrich and Brother Joseph, who were deep in conversation, then continued in a soft voice. “It's natural to feel tiredness. You don't eat very much either.”
“I haven't had much appetite,” Cymbra admitted.
“You know better than I that there are tonics to help with such upset. Gentle things that will do no harm.”
Cymbra nodded, but absently, for just then she saw the Rus trader come into the hall. He stood for a moment, peering through the filtered light, before spotting her. He hurried to join the little group by the fire but he had notice only for Cymbra.
“Lady, I am so relieved to find you! My Nadia, her time has come! Please, you must hurry!”
Brother Joseph stood and placed a gentle hand on Mikal's arm. “Easy now, friend. Even I know babies take their sweet time, and you've thought this one was coming ere now.”
“This time he really comes! And soon!” He looked to Cymbra. “My Nadia, she says, bring the lady quickly! Please, you come!”
Cymbra got to her feet, never taking her eyes from him. Her stomach clenched.
“I spoke with your wife just yesterday. She promised me she would come here at the first sign of labor.”
“There was no time! Everything happened too swiftly.” He faltered and she saw the fear in his eyes. “Please, lady, there is blood. Just drops but there should not be blood, should there?”
She took a breath, her lips pressed tight together. Brita caught her eye. A silent understanding passed between them. Cymbra exhaled slowly. She turned to Mikal. Gently, she said, “It's all right. I will come.”
“My lady …” Ulfrich and Brother Joseph spoke almost in unison, one swiftly echoing the other. A glance at them was enough to tell Cymbra that they were well aware she was not supposed to leave the fortress. Did everyone know, then? Would anyone actually try to stop her?
“Dame Mikal must be brought here,” Brother Joseph said.
Cymbra shook her head. “She can't be moved, especially not in all this mud. It's too …” She paused, seeing the trader's strained face. “It's too slippery.”
Quickly, before anyone could object further, she turned to Brita. “Please, my cloak and the chest from beside the bed.”
“Your gray cloak, my lady?”
“Yes, that one.” The cloak would offer at least some concealment, in case anyone was tempted to stop her.
“I will go with you,” Brita said.
Cymbra laid a hand on her arm. “No, I go alone.”
“But, my lady—” This time it was Ulfrich who objected. “You should not be unaccompanied! One of us will—”
“No,” Cymbra said even more firmly. She would not, could not, involve anyone else in this. Wolf's wrath, if it had to come at all, must fall only on her. Determined on that as she was, it took precious moments to convince Ulfrich and Brother Joseph that she meant what she said. Even so, she felt their unhappy gazes as she hurried from the hall.
Brita was even more stubborn when she met her with the cloak and medicine box. “You will need help, my lady,” she insisted even as she donned her own cloak, preparing to go with Cymbra. “It is only sensible to take me with you.”
Cymbra hefted the box in one hand and pulled the hood up over her head with the other. She was vividly aware of Mikal, standing nearby, bouncing from one foot to the other in his agitation. Gazing into the pale but determined face of the young Irish girl, she shook her head firmly.
“No, Brita, you absolutely will not come. You must promise me, as you value your service to me, that you will not think of following.”
The girl hesitated, her expression making it clear to Cymbra that was exactly what she'd planned to do if she was refused.
“Promise,” Cymbra insisted. For good measure, she added, “Swear before God.”
Brita looked heavenward as though seeking guidance, or perhaps just patience. “My lady …”
“No, I mean it. You must swear.” Softly, she added, “And we both know why.”
The two women, so different in upbringing and position, shared a moment of stark equality. Each knew herself to be vulnerable to the anger of a man. Each knew what defiance could bring.
Cymbra put out a hand and gave the girl a gentle shove back toward the hall. Brother Joseph was standing in the open door. He saw and came to Brita, taking her arm.
“Come, lass, Ulfrich could use more of that infusion.”
Still staring at Cymbra, Brita looked in danger of crying. “I've never made it alone.”
“But you're more than able to do so,” Cymbra assured her. She added an encouraging smile. “Go on now. With this awful weather, there will be more in need of care. I'm relying on you.”
That did the trick. Reluctantly, Brita went with the monk. Cymbra breathed a sigh of relief and joined Mikal. Together they passed through the gates and on down the road to the town.
Most people were inside. They passed only a very few darting along the rain-slicked stones of the wharves and over the wooden planks laid across the muddy lanes. Several ships rode at anchor, their decks empty and rain swept.
A heavy mist obscured the rocky islands that sheltered the harbor, making the entrance impassable to even the boldest. Waves slapped against the piers, driven by the wind coming off the sea. Cymbra tasted salt on her lips. She ducked her head down and concentrated on walking faster.
The wind gusted powerfully just as they reached the house of the Rus couple. Mikal thrust the door open and stood aside for Cymbra to enter. She took a quick look around, noting that everything was in good order save for the dishes, which still held remnants of breakfast and appeared abandoned on the table in the center of the room. Clearly, Nadia had been well enough to see to her housewifely duties until only a short time before.
“Through here,” Mikal said anxiously. He parted a curtain leading to a small alcove behind the main room. Most of it was taken up by a large, richly carved bed covered by a mound of blankets and furs. Only Nadia's pale, distraught face was visible beneath them.
“Oh, my lady, I am so sorry! I mean to come to you but everything happen so quickly and I am—” Her voice caught. She held out a hand, instantly grasped by her husband, who hurried to her side. “I am afraid, my lady.”
Even as Nadia spoke, Cymbra felt the woman's mingled terror and regret surging so powerfully that she almost gasped. The sudden realization that her usual defenses against the emotions of others were not working made her teeter on the edge of panic. She had to take several quick, deep breaths before she could respond calmly.
“It's all right, Nadia. I understand.” She set down her box and removed her cloak, all the while grappling inwardly for some means of shielding herself. Slowly, her sense of the other woman's emotions receded.
When she was sure she was fully in control, Cymbra said, “Mikal, please heat some water.”
He hesitated, gazing at his wife with deep concern. “Go,” Nadia echoed softly. “The lady is here now. Everything will be fine.”
He went, though not without a backward glance at his wife. The deep love and worry in his eyes made Cymbra's throat tighten. But she showed none of that as she smiled again at Nadia. Gently she drew back the covers to expose the mound of the woman's belly covered by a linen robe.
“Well, now, let's see how the little one is doing.”
In the next few minutes, Cymbra carefully felt the baby's position and confirmed that the bleeding was slight. During that time, Nadia was swept by two powerful contractions. With each, Cymbra cautioned her not to yield to the temptation to push. When the water was ready, Cymbra washed her hands, then checked more thoroughly before finding what she had hoped.
“Your labor is strong and swift. This child is indeed eager to be born but you are not quite ready to bring him forth. Trying to do so now tears you and causes bleeding. That's already happened to a small degree but the baby is not in danger from it and you will heal.”
This time Cymbra was ready. The wave of Nadia's intense relief swept past but not through her. While the Rus woman was yet buoyed by it, Cymbra helped her to stand. Holding on to her, she encouraged Nadia to walk back and forth across the room.
Mikal returned with yet more water and, after recovering from his surprise at seeing his wife on her feet, took over the task of helping her remain upright. Meanwhile, Cymbra quickly washed her instruments, covered the bed with a clean sheet, and warmed a swaddling blanket.
She had barely finished when Nadia bent double with the force of an even more powerful contraction. Her husband and Cymbra helped her back into the bed. Uncertain what he
should do, Mikal made up his mind abruptly when he saw the plea in his wife's eyes. He took up his place at the head of the bed, holding her hands and offering her all the strength and courage he could give as she fought to bring their child into the world.
A child who was born moments later, sliding from his mother's body with a lusty wail that made Cymbra grin ear to ear. Quickly she did what was needful for the baby wrapped him in the blanket, and handed him to his parents. As they gazed in awe at the miracle they had wrought, she cared for Nadia, who was so caught up in the wonder of her son as to be oblivious to everything else.
With all as it should be, Cymbra relaxed a little and enjoyed the sight of the child. She joined his parents in exclaiming over his size, his thick head of black hair, and his obviously intelligent expression. When Mikal, bursting with pride, hurried off to make some broth, Cymbra encouraged Nadia as she put her child to her breast for the first time. The new mother jerked in surprise, her eyes flying to Cymbra's before she laughed shakily. “He certainly knows what he wants!”
“He's a strong, healthy child and will undoubtedly have an appetite to match. You must take care to get proper rest and eat healthy foods. I will prepare a tonic for you to drink now and I will send another daily for the next fortnight.”
Mikal returned with the broth and Cymbra left the new family alone while she prepared the tonic. As she worked, she paused long enough to pull aside a wooden shutter and glance outside. It was still raining but not as much as before, yet the light was grayer. With a start, she realized that she had been so caught up in the drama of birth as to make time slip by with deceptive fleetness. Far more of it had passed than she had realized.
She was worried momentarily but then pushed that aside, reasoning there was nothing she could do about it. As it was, she wasn't free to return to the hill fort until she was certain that both baby and mother were doing well.
